


It Happens to be You

by starsandamorphinetoast



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, False Accusations, John/Sherlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Loves John, sherlock/john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:59:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandamorphinetoast/pseuds/starsandamorphinetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John notices Sherlock's odd behaviour and Mary's as well.  He confronts Sherlock and accuses him of sleeping with his wife and of being in love with her.  He finds out that he accused him of loving the wrong person.  Guilt ensues, as well as John questioning whether or not he loves Sherlock as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER- Sherlock isn't my original character nor are any of the other characters in this. This is only me trying my hand at writing characters that originally belong to sir Arthur Conan Doyle and now are in a sense exploited by many other than me, including the creators and writers of Sherlock, Elementary, and many other adaptations. (Not that I'm not ecstatic that they do so.)
> 
> There will be more chapters IF you guys like it. I'm not going to bother writing more if nobody likes it. So review and tell me what you like (or don't like) and what I can do better. 
> 
> TW: Drug use!

John stormed into 221B Baker Street to find Sherlock lying face down on the sofa. "You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do." He growls lowly. "Get up and sit correctly so that I can talk to you. This is important."

Sherlock looked up. "What are you babbling about?" He asked, sitting up to prevent his voice being muffled by the pillow.

"Do the two of you honestly think that I'm an idiot?" John asked incredulously. "Really though! Did you not think I'm smart enough to put two and two together here?" He sat down in Sherlock's chair since his was gone. "You left the wedding early. You looked like it was painful for you to be there. Mary has been sneaking around and deleted all the messages between the two of you off of her phone. And I know that she has texted you before. She's always going off somewhere and she always just claims she’s going 'out'.  Just out.  I followed her once.  Know where she came? Here." He said all of this quickly, then pinned his eyes on the floor. "Here!" He shouted. "What am I supposed to make of that?"

Sherlock stared at him blankly. "I don't…. I don't understand what you are implying." He said, eyes narrowing briefly. John couldn't have found out. Was he listening in on conversations?

"Of course you don't." He shook his head with a mirthless smile.  "You never fucking do." He shook his head and laughed, though it was bitter and completely devoid of humor. "Are you sleeping with my wife?" He asked simply, not bothering to put it in a less frank way. "Are you?  Just tell me honestly, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "What? No!" He stood up. "That's what you think of me. That's what you think of her?" He stormed into the kitchen furiously. "What a terrible thing to ask me. Of course I'm not sleeping with Mary." He poured himself a coffee and stirred in sugar.

"Well what else am I supposed to assume?" John demanded. "You know the signs, Sherlock. Everything I mentioned. If I were a client you'd tell me that she was having an affair." He followed Sherlock into the kitchen and sat down at the table. "Wouldn't you? It matches up."

Sherlock sighed. "Well that is simply not the case here. I apologize for leading you to assume otherwise." He leaned against the counter and stared down into his coffee without drinking it. John wouldn't believe him unless he countered it.  He was going to keep pushing.  He was going to force the truth out of him.  “Honestly, if you haven’t deduced that I’m gay by now, then maybe you aren’t fit to solve crimes.”

John leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Well what should I believe?" He asked. "Why did she come here without telling me? Why is she sneaking around? Why did you leave the wedding early looking like someone had slapped you in the face?”  He paused. 

Sherlock inhaled and let the breath out slowly. "I highly doubt the answer to that is something you want to know." He mumbled.

John shook his head. "No. Sherlock, enlighten me. I'm really having a hard time believing that she isn't cheating on me with my best friend, so prove me wrong.  Wait, you…you just said you’re gay.”

“Yes, I did, John.  That this is a surprise to you is astounding.”  Sherlock sipped his coffee with a façade of ease and sat the mug on the counter.  “Mary and I were simply having discussions. I asked her to come over after she...discovered something that I'd rather have kept a secret." He stated, still refusing to look John in the eyes. His cheeks were slowly beginning to darken as a blush spread across them. All this time he'd been struggling to keep John from finding this out and John assumes he's sleeping with his wife. Of course, now he had to tell him.

"Discussions about what? What did she deduce?" John asked, tilting his head in slight confusion.

Sherlock groaned and averted his eyes. "She discovered that I have a romantic attachment to someone and that it was upsetting me." He glanced up momentarily and then back down into his coffee. "I've never had emotions like this before and was therefore clueless on how to go about ridding myself of them."

John nodded. "Okay. Thank god." He shook his head and covered his face with his hands. "That is quite the relief."

Sherlock turned away from him. "I'm a little offended that you actually thought-"

"No, I'm sorry." John insisted. "I'm so sorry. I jumped to conclusions." He looked back up. "Don't be angry, alright, anyone sane would have assumed. Anyway, why would you want to get rid of the emotions?”  He looked away uncomfortably.  “I mean, you have…dated before, I’m assuming?  So just…ask him out.  Right?”

Sherlock sighed. "It’s not that simple, John.  Just ignore it."

“What do you mean it’s not simple?”  John scoffed and stood up, going to the fridge, and being lucky enough to find a bottle of orange juice.  “You Holmes boys make everything so complicated.  It’s simple.  You just ask him to have dinner with you and see if you hit it off.” 

“Yes, I’ll do that shall I?”  Sherlock droned sarcastically.  “I’ll just go up to a straight, married, normal man and ask him to have dinner with me?”

"Married?  Well who is it?" John asked, lifting his eyebrows. "Come on, just tell me. Why can you talk about this with Mary and not me?  Is it Lestrade?  Because he’s not straight.  He told me."

Sherlock groaned. "No, it’s not him, and no, I can't tell you." He shook his head. "Please just drop it." He stared down at the floor, still tormented by the heat across his face.

"Why can't you tell me?" John demanded. " I happen to be your best friend." He crossed his arms.

Sherlock looked up and met his eyes. "The person also happens to be you."  He said quietly, straight face but shaking hands.  “And yes, I assumed you were too much of an idiot to put two and two together in this respect. I've only felt this way for three years, after all.”  He absorbed the look of shock and confusion on John’s face for a moment or two.  When it became clear that John wasn’t going to respond, he huffed and looked away before swiftly retreated to his room.  He closed the door with much more force than he intended. 

John stood, alone in the kitchen at Baker Street, stunned. He couldn't move, but somehow all the moments started playing in his mind like a film. All the looks, the gazes, that he'd caught Sherlock casting his way, all the times he'd defended him, not to mention the speech. The best man speech. Until now he hadn't realized. The speech was hardly a speech at all. It was a love letter. He put his head in his hands. "Oh…my god.”  He whispered to himself. How had he not realized this before? He thought about texting or calling Mary to ask her about it.

After about ten minutes he decided against it and hesitantly went to Sherlock's bedroom door and knocking quietly. "Sherlock?" He muttered. "Can I come in?" There was no response. He bit his lip. "Sherlock? I'm going to come in." He was worried.

He let out a breath at the sight that greeted him. A practically catatonic Sherlock sat on the bed, propped against the headboard, with a belt around one arm and a needle in the other hand. "Dammit." He huffed, rushing over and sitting on the edge of the bed.  "Sherlock?" He snapped in front of his face. He let out a sigh of relief when Sherlock's eyes flicked over to his face for a moment. He set about undoing the belt and taking away the needle away. At least he hadn't overdosed. He was okay.

After cleaning up, John sat down next to Sherlock again. "Why did you do this?" He asked sternly. "You'd been doing well."

"How would you know?" Sherlock slurred. "You haven't exactly been 'round to see." He blinked rapidly and then finally settled on just closing his eyes.

John was about to protest but then realized that the statement was completely true. He could argue that he was just trying to make time to be with his wife that he'd just married, but that was just an excuse somehow. She'd spent more time with him than he had in the past weeks. "You're right." He hummed. "I'm sorry, Sherlock.  I’ve been a lousy friend, and I’m going to do better."

“Oh, please.  Don’t let me be one more chore on your list.” 

He frowned.  “You…you aren’t. Don’t be so dramatic.” 

Sherlock was nodding off, so he laid him down on his side.  He sat there with him for probably an hour before he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out.

Where are you? - Mary

Baker Street. Sherlock told me. -JW

He did? - Mary

I didn't really give him a choice. I may have accused him of being in love with you. -JW

On my way over. -Mary

John dropped the phone and let it fall onto the floor. "Mary is coming over." He said aloud, even though Sherlock was asleep. He sighed and stood up, pulled the blankets over him and closed the blinds, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

After pouring himself a cup of coffee he sat down on the sofa and waited for Mary with something inside of him shouting angrily. How could he have been that dense? How could he have missed it when it was so obvious?

Mary walked in and stalked right over to where he sat on the sofa. "Are you an idiot?" She demanded, sitting beside him and glaring at him. "Do you know how much that probably hurt him?"

John nodded and huffed. "I know. I'm sorry. I feel horrible." He admitted. "And then he relapsed right after he told me. Ran off to his room and by the time I got in there he'd already-"

"He relapsed on our wedding night, John." She cut him off. "He's been doing it since then." She groaned. "You just asked him if he was in love with me? That's all you asked?"

John closed his eyes. Since their wedding night? He felt so ashamed of himself. He claimed to be Sherlock's best friend but so much time had passed and he hadn't even noticed that he was dying inside. "I may have asked him if he was sleeping with you." He whispered.

Mary frowned. "I am so pleased that there is so much trust in our relationship." She said curtly. "I'm not cheating on you, John. And if you'd looked a little closer you'd have seen that it's you he's in love with."

John reached out to her. "I'm sorry, Mary." He insisted. "I feel like an idiot. I never should have assumed anything like that." He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Don't worry about me right now. Is he asleep?" She asked, shrugging away from him. "He's probably worried that you'll leave him now. He doesn't want anything to change. You have to somehow assure him that everything is okay and the two of you are still best friends."

John nodded and closed his eyes. "I… yeah." He sighed. "I'll stay tonight and I'll spend the morning with him and make sure he knows that." The only thing, however, that he was capable of thinking about, was how much he wished that he'd known sooner.

Mary nodded. "Okay then." She stood up. "I'm going to go home. It's late." She started towards the door.

John jumped up and followed her. "Wait." He wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her back. "I love you so much." He murmured.

She sighed and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I love you too.  Popular opinion today, hm?"


	2. Chapter 2

John had tried his old room, wondering if it were still in tact or if, like the chair, all of it was gone. What he found surprised him. It wasn’t only in tact, it was kept up. The dust that had been there was gone and the blankets on the bed were clean. In the corner of the room sat an addition to it. Sherlock had moved his chair in here. He should have known he didn’t really just get rid of it. 

He walked in and toed off his shoes, opening the closet door and pushing them inside. Just before he closed the door, he came face to face with the jumper that he’d been searching for for months. He knew it wasn’t possible for him to lose a jumper. Where would he have lost it? He sighed and closed the door. More and more obvious by the minute. 

He took of his jumper, shirt, and trousers, folding them all and placing them in the chair. He crawled into the bed, left only in his boxers and undershirt. As his head hit the pillow, it occurred to him that if he’d known just a bit sooner, just before he proposed or before he met Mary, he might have considered it. He’d never thought he was gay, but if anyone, it’d be Sherlock. Of course it would. It always had been. 

Being with Mary was a substitute. It had been from the start, even if he was unaware that he was doing that; that he was trying to replace him. Regardless of what he thought his sexuality was, it was more than obvious that the universe did in fact make people with soul mates. A person always had another person in the world that they were meant to be with, whether it be in a romantic way, a sexual way, or a platonic way. John’s person was Sherlock.

But it was too bloody late now, wasn’t it? John groaned and brought his hands to his face. What could he do? What was he even meant to say to Sherlock in the morning? Knowing Sherlock, he might try to deny that anything had happened the night before and go on living. If he did, John could just go along with it. If he sulked in the morning, John would have to tell him that everything was going to be okay. 

John allowed his eyes to drift closed as his mind whirled until finally it came to a stop. He could deal with whatever the outcome was when it happened. Eventually he fell asleep. 

 

The next morning when he woke, it was a little after eight thirty. He got dressed, deciding to put on the jumper that was in the closet rather than wear the same clothes from yesterday. He went to peek into Sherlock’s room, finding him still asleep. It looked as though Sherlock hadn’t moved an inch. He closed the door back and went into the kitchen, looking through the fridge to see if there was anything there that he could make for breakfast. There was an egg carton so he pulled it out only to find it empty when he opened it. He put it on the counter and after a bit more searching through the kitchen, he found a loaf of bread. 

He cut it into slices and put them in the toaster. There was butter in the fridge, along with orange juice. He poured two glasses of juice and after the toast was done, spread butter over each piece and put the two on separate plates. He carried one plate and one glass of juice into Sherlock’s room and sat them on the bedside table before sitting on the edge of Sherlock’s bed. 

“Sherlock.” He mumbled, reaching over and shaking him slightly. “Wake up, Sherlock.” He said quietly. After a moment, Sherlock blinked and looked up at John. “I’ve made toast. You need breakfast.” 

Sherlock closed his eyes again for a moment and then forced himself to sit up. “I’m not hungry, but I’ll humour you.” He reached out and took the toast, taking a few bites and setting it back down. “Why are you still here?” 

John bit his lip. Sulking. The hard way. “I came over last night and after you…”

“Used heroin?” Sherlock suggested, getting up shakily and walking over to the window. 

“Yes.” John stood up. “I was worried about you, so I stayed the night.” He picked up the juice and walked over, handing it to Sherlock. 

Sherlock took the juice and drank it all in one gulp. “When you leave, put that jumper back in the closet.” He insisted. 

“It is my jumper, you know.” John protested. Sherlock was avoiding the subject and he was starting to think that maybe he shouldn’t have even brought it up.

Sherlock waved that off as if it wasn’t important. “Just leave it here.” He glanced at him briefly before adding quietly, “Please.” 

Who was John to say no? If he wanted the jumper, then it was his. It was the least he could give him. “Okay. I’ll put it back before I leave.” He hesitantly put a hand on Sherlock’s back, thinking maybe he needed some sort of physical reassurance, but Sherlock pulled away the second he made contact. 

“I need to shower.” He said plainly, going to his closet and getting out a fresh set of clothing. He half expected John to go home now, but a part of him knew that he wouldn’t leave until they’d properly discussed this.

John nodded. “Okay, but do you mind… can we talk about this first, Sherlock?” He asked, walking over to him. “I was really concerned about you yesterday, okay? I need to talk to you about this.” He put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Please?” 

Sherlock inhaled sharply at the touch and once again pulled away. “Fine.” He walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table across from John’s untouched breakfast. “Talk then. If you’re going to talk about it, go ahead and do.” 

John moved the plate, having lost any appetite, to the counter along with his juice and sat down across from Sherlock. “Sherlock...I’m glad you told me.” He muttered. “I feel incredibly stupid for not noticing before now.” He stared down at the table. “I’d like to hear...everything. Everything you and Mary discussed. If you need to talk about this, I’d rather you feel comfortable enough to talk about it with me.” 

Sherlock shook his head. “The problem is that I don’t.” He chuckled humorlessly. “How can I? There isn’t anything I can tell you that I haven’t already told you.” He sighed. “In the speech.” He felt as though entire body were being torn in half. Every second he spent looking at John was another second he knew might be one of the last. John couldn’t possibly still be interested in being friends. Now he knew how Sherlock felt. He knew that Sherlock was hopelessly in love with him and he must know that it could never go back to the way that it had been before; before he knew. “Being your friend… is the most important thing in the world to me. I've never..." He broke off and shrugged. "I don't recall ever having a friend before I met you, and somehow you had the patience to put up with me. But now," How could he say this to John. "I don't believe it is in either of our best interest to continue to-" 

John looked up and met his eyes. “Are...what are you saying then?” He asked, heart dropping at the thought that maybe Sherlock was no longer wanting to be in contact with him. 

“Perhaps its best for both of us if…” He started, but found himself unable to continue. His eyes were glued to the table. “I don’t think I’m capable of having this conversation right now.” He said, matter-of-factly. "I believe I'm a little overwhelmed." 

John shook his head. “Then you don’t have to say anything, Sherlock. But just know that you...being your friend is the most important thing to me as well.” He leaned forward against the table. “I don’t care what you think is best for both of us. I couldn’t possibly stop being your friend. I feel selfish for saying that because I know how much this is troubling you but…” He shook his head. “I need you.” He clenched his fists. “Don’t tell me that you don’t want to be around me anymore, because I couldn’t possibly leave you alone. Not when I’m this… reliant on you.”

Sherlock nodded, saying nothing and not making eye contact. This situation was putting him in a position that was more vulnerable than he was willing to remain. “I need to shower.” He stood up and John stood up as well. 

“I won’t leave you.” He insisted. “Now will you please just...let me…” He stood close to him. “Let me hug you.” He looked up at him. “You scared me last night. I thought you’d overdosed.” 

Sherlock took a step back. “I don’t...no I don’t think I can let you engage in any physical contact with me.” 

John bit his lip. “Oh.” He stepped back. “Okay. I’m sorry.” He turned around, scratching his head. “So… do you want to do something tonight? I haven’t really been around much since Mary and I got married. We could go out to a pub or something.” 

For some reason, Sherlock felt obligated to say yes, if only to maintain John’s friendship by spending time with him outside of cases. He didn’t really have any interest in going to a pub, but he had missed him desperately. “Okay, I suppose. You should probably go on home and...just text me an address and I’ll meet you tonight.” He spun on his heel and walked into the bathroom. Within seconds the shower was on. 

John nodded and slipped the jumper over his head. He folded it, held it in his hands, contemplated keeping it, and then draped it over Sherlock's chair. He walked downstairs and got a cab, setting back off for home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update this, guys. I just out of school for the summer, so I should have more time to work on it. Let me know how you like it. Personally, it's making me really sad and nostalgic. I just keep remembering how John used to look at Sherlock and how utterly different it is now, but I suppose that's what happens when you fake your death.

Sherlock sighed as he allowed the water to wash over his skin. He sank down in the tub, sitting down and allowing the shower to fall down on his head, soaking his hair and pushing it forward into his eyes. He had planned on keeping it to himself. He was to keep it a secret and do his best to contain his feelings, to stop it from resurfacing. It had worked for so long, but John had pried. There wasn't much else he could do at that point. He knew that this particular doctor was particularly stubborn.

So he would pretend like nothing of importance happened the night before. John hadn't been there when he woke, nor had they had that ridiculously awkward conversation in the kitchen that morning. He finished the shower that might as well have been a bath considering he was sitting, went to his bedroom, got dressed and walked into the living room to sit down in his chair.

Moments after sitting, he realized that he didn’t have a thing to do. Usually he would sit and review a case or sit and take out his laptop to write up an explanation of his last case for his website. Sometimes he would call Mrs Hudson and demand that she bring him tea and then she would insist on sitting and having tea with him. He would roll his eyes and pretend that it was completely absurd that she was under the impression that she needed to sit with him, but he was secretly pleased that she did. But he knew Mrs Hudson was out this morning. It was Friday and she must've been out of milk.

He let out a long sigh. He had nothing to do. He had nothing to think about that was important or interesting enough to distract him and keep him from thinking about one thing, and one thing only. John. So all he could do was sit there and wait for John’s text that was surely not going to come until some time past six.

 

John made his way to work, knowing he was fifteen minutes early and not caring at all. He sat down in his office and texted Mary, letting her know that he was in for work and that Sherlock was okay. She showed up at the clinic and they set about their usual rhythm, though she was a bit cross with him. Twelve patients, all with something that wasn’t particularly challenging to diagnose. Three colds, one strep throat, two animal bites, three infected cuts, two STIs, and a hypochondriac who was completely and entirely healthy. By the end of the day, John was fighting back anxiety. Every spare moment he had was spent worrying about Sherlock and cursing himself for being so dense. He walked out into the waiting room and leaned on the desk. “I'm meeting Sherlock at the pub. I’ll be home tonight by a eleven at the latest.”

She nodded. “If he needs you to stay with him longer, or stay the night, do so.” She leaned up and kissed his lips before setting about clearing her desk. “I love you.” Mary said without looking at him.

John didn’t look at her either as he said the same words in response.

Meet me at ‘The Feathers’ near Scotland Yard? -JW

Sherlock glanced at the text and stood up from his seat. He’d only gotten up twice since he’d sat down. He took his coat and scarf from the coat rack and pulled both on before walking downstairs. Of course it was raining. Pouring. He walked out and stood under one of the awnings, waving at a cabbie who deciding it was a better idea to pass him by. He cursed under his breath and continued waving until one stopped. He slid in. “St James’ Gate station.” He said simply as he tapped out a response to John.

Be there in ten minutes. -SH

He walked into the pub, glancing around as he was seated and taking it in. He’d been there before, but never with John. He’d gone with his parents when they’d been in London. He looked up at the sound of someone opening the door. John walked in, hair sopping wet from the rain. he met his eyes and smiled as he walked over. “John.” He nodded at him. “Busy day at work?”

John chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that again.” He sighed as he sat down in the chair, leaning back. “Glad to just relax. Have you ordered anything yet?”  
“No. I was waiting for you and your recommendation.” Sherlock responded, shrugging off his coat and draping it over the back of the chair. “I've only been here once, and I didn’t eat when I came.”

John shrugged. “I usually get the burger, but the fish and chips is also a great choice. I always get a dark ale, but they've got a great wine selection too.”

Sherlock nodded and crossed one leg over the other. “Right then. Fish and chips and an ale.” He scratched the back of his neck. Luckily, John didn’t seem to be keen on bringing up what he’d told him the night before, or any incident that was related to it. The waitress came by and they ordered. They were brought the ales and per usual, Sherlock didn’t particularly care for it. He’d always preferred wine, but John had suggested the ale.

“Sherlock we- we need to talk about this.”

There it was.

“About the ale? It’s alright. I've had better, but its good.”Sherlock said absently, swirling the liquid in his pint. “Maybe I’ll finish this and have a glass of wine as well. But wine with fish and chips? They are fairly dressed up fish and chips, but fish and chips nonetheless.”

John shook his head. “No, you know what I'm talking about.” He insisted. “Not the ale, Sherlock. You. Mary told me that you've been using again since our wedding night?”

Sherlock nodded and sipped his drink. “Yes. Entirely unrelated.” He lied without so much as a glance towards John until he put his glass down.

“Just heroin, or anything else?” John asked, leaning back and crossing his arms in a pose that made Sherlock feel like he was in court being tried.

“Anything I could get my hands on. Heroin, cocaine, and sleeping pills.” He answered. “Its been mostly sleeping pills, heroin and cocaine only having occurred a few times.”

“Why then, if not because you were upset about Mary and I?” John asked. Their food was brought out, but John didn’t pick up his burger yet.

Sherlock hesitated, picking up a greasy fry and popping it in his mouth. “Bored.” He said simply. “I've got nothing to do. I'm getting minimal cases and it’s driving me mad.”

John laughed and sat forward. “I know you’re lying to me. I know for a fact that you have at least a hundred clients.” He picked up his burger and brought it to his mouth, biting into it but not really enjoying the food like he generally would. His stomach was in knots over this. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was that was bothering him. It should be that Sherlock was using drugs again, but that wasn’t all. There was more to it.

“None of them are worth my time. I defer them all to either attorneys or Scotland Yard.” He kept his eyes down on the table as he ate. He was almost embarrassed that John had seen him on heroin. It was a vulnerable position and he had never wanted John to see.

John nodded and raised a hand at the waitress for another pint. “So why sleeping pills? Usually you’d revert to old habits, right? Cocaine?”

Sherlock clenched his jaw momentarily before answering. “Because with sleeping pills I can just sleep away long hours filled with nothing and nobody.” He said truthfully. “What’s the point of being awake and miserable when there’s no one depending on you getting up and being happy?”

John nodded. “Right. You’re depressed.” He said matter-of-factly. “I think you should see someone. A psychiatrist.” He looked up and met eyes that were staring back at him. “What?”

“You really think I would see a therapist?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow. “I don’t need a therapist. I don’t need anything.” He blinked in confusion.

John swallowed. “I think you should see someone. It can help, I'm proof of that. Maybe you can get some prescription medication. You know, antidepressants.” Why did he feel so strange and different under Sherlock’s gaze? This new information, that Sherlock had feelings for him, was changing his perception. The idea that such a detail could completely alter the way he saw Sherlock as a person made him feel sick and absolutely appalled at himself. After all, Sherlock was the same man, his best friend, despite the fact that he was attracted to him, and yet somehow, different.

Sherlock looked away from him and sighed. “I knew this would happen.” He whispered, more to himself than to John. How John heard him over the noise of the crowd was a mystery to Sherlock.

“Knew what would happen? Knew that I would try to help you?” He questioned, giving up on eating and setting his burger down.

Sherlock pushed his food around on his plate with his fork. “I knew that knowing this would change things. You’re uncomfortable.” He mumbled.

“No, I'm not uncomfortable.” He insisted. “You’re my best friend. What would I have to be uncomfortable about?”

Sherlock shook his head and forced himself to take a bite of his food. “Nothing. Never mind. Can we please talk about something else?”

 

And so their night went on; a series of forced conversation and awkward glances. Sherlock did end up having that glass of wine, and John didn’t have any. The two of them said goodbye at the door after Sherlock picked up the bill, though John had protested. They shook hands and Sherlock made sure his didn’t linger too long on John’s. Had he moved his fingers up past John’s hand to his wrist, he might have noticed how elevated his pulse was. However, he didn't, and the two of them got into separate cabs and went off into the London night, back to their homes.


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks passed before they saw each other again. John texted Sherlock whenever he remembered to, which was nearly every day, and Sherlock did his best to keep his responses short and to keep his distance without offending him. 

He had a case that Lestrade had called him about. The simpletons at the Yard explained that the man was known for killing men who he thought were abusive to women, regardless of truth behind it, or reasoning. “Do we have a name for the killer?”

“Um, yes.” Lestrade pulled a file from his desk. “His name is Ray Jefferson.” He passed the file to Sherlock. “He’s been wanted for years in America, but he’s just recently been spotted here. He works alone, but he’s been seen travelling with another man who was first convicted in Wales for theft, and later for more robbery in other countries. Always got out on bail, and now that we see him with Jefferson, we’re assuming he’s the one getting him out.”

Sherlock skimmed the report and looked at the picture. “So his victims are found dressed in formal wear with pale and damaged skin and bled out wounds to the chest.”

“Always spelling out the word ‘Abuse’.” Lestrade nodded and kicked his feet up onto the desk. “The guy thinks he’s some kind of hero.”

Sherlock looked up. “Why do you say that?” He asked. “Maybe he doesn’t do it to be a hero. Maybe he does it because he hates the abuse the women are going through. It says here that his mother was killed during his childhood by his father.”

Lestrade scratched the back of his neck. “Yes. His father was a drunk. He killed his mother in front of him and then kidnapped his younger sister.” He explained, then looked up as the door opened. “Oh hey John. Thanks for coming out.”

Sherlock looked up in confusion. “John?” He looked from him back to Lestrade. “Did you call him?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow. “I think I can handle this case by myself.”

John came in and sat down. “Yeah, he called me.”

“I don’t want you working cases by yourself, Sherlock, and since you’ll never accept any of the officers here as backup, then you take John.” Lestrade took his feet down and sat forward. “We’ve got addresses of all his victims. No pattern there. He probably just strolls around at pubs and clubs and stuff to find them.” 

Sherlock looked hesitantly at John before he looked away. “Okay. Have you interviewed the women the victims were with?”

He nodded. “Yes. We’ve interviewed all of them. They all just claim to have been arguing while out at the pub with their boyfriends or husbands. There have been six here in England, but he did the same thing back in America.” He answered.

Sherlock looked at John. “We’ll have to stage something then, to lure him in.” He turned to Lestrade. “Do we have a map of what pubs?”

“No, but we have addresses.” He handed him a sheet of paper. 

Sherlock stood. “That’s all we need. Thank you Lestrade; I’ll have him turned in by tomorrow.” He turned on his heel and left the office without so much as a glance towards John.

 

John hurried to keep up with Sherlock and slid in beside him in the cab. “So what are we going to do? You said stage something.”

“Mm hmm.” Sherlock agreed. “We’re going to take these addresses and map them out. I know there has to be a pattern in pubs. We’ll go to the next pub and stage a heated argument between a man and woman.”

John laughed. “Well I suppose we’ll need a woman, unless you want me in drag.” 

Sherlock looked over. “Yes, a woman would be preferable.” He answered. “I was thinking you and Mary could be my actors.”

John frowned and scratched his neck. “Won't it be dangerous?” He asked. “This guy has killed who knows how many people.”

Sherlock hesitated. “You’re right. I’d better be the male actor.” He said. “Could you call Mary and ask her over to the flat?”

“I meant dangerous for Mary, Sherlock.” He objected. 

Sherlock scoffed. “There are two problems with that.” He said quietly. “Firstly, we both know that Mary can take care of herself better than either of us. Secondly, the killer is protecting women, not killing them.” Sherlock looked over the addresses and made mental notes about each, thinking anb out the atmosphere of each and suddenly remembering John’s stag night. They had visited the third one on the list. He shook his head, trying to put it out of his mind. “Its the men he’s killing, so I’ll go and reason with him after he kidnaps me. You follow him and if my reasoning isn’t working, then you hit him hard on the back of the head with something.”

John looked at Sherlock for a moment. “Do you have a death wish or something? You’re going to let this guy kidnap you?” He asked worriedly. How could he just let Sherlock do that? “You’re going to have a heated argument with Mary?” 

Sherlock nodded. “A scripted one. I’ll even let you pick what we’re fighting about.” He teased. 

 

When finally in the flat, they mapped out all the addresses and realized that they went in almost a perfect circle. “He probably lives in the centre of this formation.” Sherlock observed aloud. “The next point will be here.” They looked up pubs on that street and found one. 

Mary had shown up about the same time as they did. She had suggested they argue about Sherlock selling her piano without asking her. Sherlock had agreed that that was as plausible as any argument he could have come up with. 

“I don’t know how I feel about this.” John mumbled. “What if one of you gets hurt?” He couldn’t say it out loud. He couldn’t tell them exactly why this was making him uncomfortable. Sherlock and Mary. The two people in the world that meant more to him than anyone else, both going on a dangerous case.

Mary put a hand on his shoulder. “John, you know very well that I’m going to be fine, and so is Sherlock. I’m sure the two of you have had cases more dangerous than this one before.”

Sherlock met John’s eyes for a moment over Mary’s shoulder. He quickly looked away and walked towards his room. “I suppose I need to change if we’re going to a pub.”

 

The pub was crowded. John sat alone across the room from where Sherlock and Mary sat at the bar having drinks. 

Mary turned to him. “So before we get mad at each other,” She started with a smile. “How are you doing lately? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I’ve been fine, I guess.” he muttered, sipping on whatever it was that Mary had ordered for the both of them. “You probably mean drugs though, so in that case, I’ve been better.” He sighed. “I’ve used a couple more times since the night I told John.”

She smiled sadly, knowingly. “Would it be better or worse if you spent more time with him?” Mary asked him, glancing over at John.

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “Worse.” He said as they opened again. “I think. Even now with him across the pub...it just makes me think about it more. But then, when I’m not with him or working on a case, I don’t have anything to do but think.” 

“I understand.” Mary said in reply. She looked up and around the room, not noting anyone who looked suspicious until the man came through the doors and headed to sit down at the bar, a few seats down from her. She didn’t think anything of him until he ordered nothing but a water. She looked at Sherlock and tilted her head in the man’s direction. “That him?” She whispered. 

Sherlock thought back to the photograph in the guy’s file. He nodded and whispered back. “Yeah that’s the guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger! I promise I'll post again soon. I had to put a case in there in detail, because otherwise its jus angst and drugs, and that's not logical considering that it is Sherlock we're talking about.


End file.
